


Call Them All Escapes

by connordown



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Post-Episode s05e29-32 Change Your Mind, Psychological Warfare, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Spoilers for Episode: s05e29-32 Change Your Mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22038682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connordown/pseuds/connordown
Summary: “When I was a child, I didn't hear a single word you saidThe things I was afraid of, they were all confined beneath my bedBut the years have been long, and you have taught me well to hide awayThe things that I believed in, you've taught me to call them all escapesI know who you are now.”Years ago, it was a common practice for Steven to question his identity as a person. He pondered about his powers, his mother, or the gemstone he inherited as her first and final gift.Now, he has his answer, though he isn’t sure how to move forward.-----Discontinued as of right now, consider this a oneshot.
Relationships: Pink Steven Universe & Steven Universe
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62





	Call Them All Escapes

Pink.

The violence of light in disarray, flashes of white that blaze like embers in the dark; he can hear screaming, anger that shakes the earth and shatters the surface in mere seconds. Rage that burns within his chest like hellfire, only to snuff itself out and become an aching, terrible cold moments later.

He can remember it all, despite the fact he’s so desperate to just _forget._

The echoes of time haunt him like ghosts, dancing around in silhouettes and transparent figures- lingering in his hour of slumber. No matter how he thrashes beneath piles of blankets, twists and turns in the warmth of them, the trap of memory condemns him to his fate.

He won’t be getting any sleep tonight.

He gives up with a petulant, resigned sigh, peeking his eyes open to glance around the dark room. The majority is hidden beneath nighttime’s shadow, but he can see the shelves lining the surrounding walls; the odd knick-knacks stacked along their surface, towers of _good_ memories that ease his idling heartache.

His eyes catch onto the ruins of someone familiar, even if he tries so terribly hard to avoid it. A blade winks at him from its place within the dark, the slightest moonlight catching onto the jagged edge.

_Her._

His breath hitches, caught in the pressure that knocks itself into his chest; a sort of twinge that rises up from the area surrounding his gem, shifting for reasons unknown to him. He’s quick to avert his eyes and move, feeling a certain desperation to get away from his room. **_He_** _can’t think of this tonight- doesn’t have time to,_ **_doesn’t want to-_**

**_I can’t._ **

He finds himself pushing through the front door without knowing why, footsteps quick across the wood, the panels creaking as he disappears into the grand night. It’s pretty out here; the moon spears itself into the ocean’s surface, glistening as the waves curl into the sandy shore. Spraying white foam, seashells- oddities that can distract his mind before he’s lost himself.

He breathes in great lungfuls of air, endures the sharp tang of the ocean as it sweeps into his chest; it comes ragged at first, rattling and the slightest bit of painful within his throat, although he begins to calm.

 _Calm. Calm_ **_for me._**

He squeezes his eyes shut, holding it there until he begins to see stars, patterns and swirls that blot out the faces painting themselves across his eyelids. Harsh lines at first, sharpening and vibrant, only to soften when he lets go of the tension within his shoulders. Only then does he exhale, it coming withered and quivering.

He can’t go on like this.

It became a repeating cycle, constant and violent within the clash of his tormented mind; since the moment he left Homeworld, set foot on the sandy beach and felt it brush against his ankles, he’d had it weighing heavy in his heart. Wailing, _crying_ , **_waiting-_**

Panic that made him go blind through too many messy, plentiful tears that cascaded down his cheeks, rivers that grew violent while he screamed for hours on end.

His mother is **_dead_**. He is _dead._  
His **_gem is his_** , but it _never was._

The feud of too many thoughts and disagreements that follow after is a storm on its own, and so instead he tries to focus on something else. Something that could give him peace, wane the panic that spills across his body- before he knows it, he can feel water slipping past his chin with haste, and he glances down to stare at the stains speckled across his chest. The burn of tears has already begun to numb his tired eyes.

 _Talk._ He needs to talk to someone about this.

The idea eases the pain in his chest, little by little.

 _What would Garnet do?_ His mind whispers, fulfilling the emptiness that lingers within, _she would know what to do, she taught Connie and I how to fix problems as a fusion._

He gives pause for a slight second, focusing in on the dark ocean as it crawls onto the sandy shore, pondering.

 _I’m_ **_not_** _a fusion._  
_But will it work?_ **_Will it?_**

His thoughts catch onto blurs of pink, of risen shields and barriers of hard light; wide eyes that streak across his vision without so much as a blink, but even so it is comforting.

_Have to try._

He decides that even if it fails to bring him to the obscurities of his mind, the calm can ease the frantic beating of his wayward heart.

He moves slowly, feeling a strange quiver within his knees; he’s trembling without reason, without cold, and so he settles upon the sand instead. Brushes himself clean of any debris that surges towards him, only stopping to remember Garnet’s instructions.

_Just close your eyes and clear your mind._

He breathes in and allows his eyes to drift shut, watching the world disappear beneath a curtain of black. No thoughts, no worries, just a life content with hovering in the dark; he waits within the abyss and remains there for several seconds, hoping.

The sound of the ocean, so loud as it crashes into the land, subsides and morphs into nothing more than a wordless hum.

**_Steven._ **

When his eyes flicker open once again, he finds himself in an area similar to his mother’s room- but _different._ Clouds that should be drifting across the sky have lowered themselves, reduced to a thick fog that hugs the earth tightly; they hinder his vision and leave him questioning the environment, afraid and faltering.

Vines litter the floor, decaying and old, and he can see thousands of thin, delicate little white wings fluttering aimlessly within the thorns, twitching with precious life.

His heart begins to ache as he passes by them.

Chalky streaks brush onto his ankles as he moves forward, trying his best to dodge the mounds of plants that have coiled around small bodies; the butterflies become frantic in response, sensing him, pennon-like wings scraping across his skin.

He swallows, struggling to ignore them, and tries his hardest to watch where the sky meets the horizon.

“Steven?” His voice is weak when it whispers into the open field, strange and foreign to his tongue- never before had he found it necessary to call out his name.

“Do you want to talk?”

At those few words, the world dips, pink hue dimming to an eerie periwinkle blue. It responds to him in ways that he finds disturbing; the vines tightening, creaking as they strain around the prey in their grasp; the butterflies stiffen, the violent shiver of their wings grow still, and they feign death in the face of their impending doom. He grimaces at the sight of them, trembling.

He’s left here in the silence, unsure and unaware of what was the best thing to say. Perhaps it’d been better if he just stayed in bed.

“I know you want to,” he tries once again, this time with a little more confidence, “it’s gonna be the only thing that helps us out.”

He glances around as a long, quiet second drags on. The world is still in a way that leaves him shifting and uncomfortable, and he lets out a small sigh before he hugs an arm, looking over to the vines that surround him.

“Do you really hate talking that much? Or do you just hate me-“ He begins, irritated, glancing back to the area that stretches on ahead of him.

Pink.

Like a reflection in the mirror, he finds himself in the distance, emitting a dim, coral glow beneath the ambience of blue light. The sight is almost ethereal, unique in the way the ocean breeze, so far into reality yet still present, ruffles the sight of his own hair and the fluttering ends of his shirt. The figure is still bound in skin and clothing of his own, and thankfully both still resemble flesh and fabric tinted pink, but the eyes; the eyes, dark and glowing with the pupils of twin, sharp diamonds, look upon him with a haunting sense of _wrong._

Breathing in a quivering, quiet sound, Steven takes the tiniest step back. The figure’s head lifts at that, appearing to react to his movement; and even with the space between them both, open and vast in a way he can’t truly describe, he can see the way a slow frown begins to take form on that glowing face.

Time lapses for a moment, lasting only for a heartbeat in its sudden pause, and then the sky darkens to a horrible black. The change jumps the entrapped butterflies to life, and they begin to flutter frantically, desperately trying to escape the vines that curl around them; the creaking of their wood-like surface gains volume, growing so loud that they almost remind Steven of a scream. His breathing and heartbeat quickens, and he takes another step back. The world had reacted too quickly, too strongly; he can feel gooseflesh crawling up his arms and legs at a frantic pace.

Beyond the sight of too many struggling, frightened little creatures, he can see the way that the figure still looks on, observing him without so much as the slightest blink. There’s no movement in its body of light, no lift and lower of lungs taking in air; a void of humanity and a void of life, save for the way its hair and clothing flitters in an unseen breeze.

Steven, dug deep into the heart of panic and far less composed, tries to take in a careful breath and lifts his head, looking back into eyes that lack any form of true existence. The sight of it leaves something burning within him, something painful that bites into his bones, and for a second he questions himself in the face of its glowing gaze.

_Is that really apart of me?_

He can hear the slightest hitch of breath echo from the figure’s position, almost as if it had _heard_ \- **_he had heard._**

The windows of its eyes, so wide and so still, give way to the sight of its composure as it begins to violently dissolve. The emptiness within them collapses, bowing away to give him the view of anguish too great for human comprehension; there is emotion there, a storm that overflows and suddenly takes form in glistening tears. His gem begins to weep, hiccuping.

He doesn’t know what to say, standing stock still; he watches as it tries to rub away the results of his words.

“You say that I hate you,” it manages between frantic breaths, whispering in a voice that’s his own, “but you don’t even like me anymore, do you?”

“You hate me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Rebecca Sugar's concept of Pink Steven is a void of humanity, but I'd like to think otherwise! :D  
> In my concept, Pink Steven is still capable of feeling emotions - all gems are, that's just how they're made - but he's also bound to Steven 100% in all psychological and physical standards. 
> 
> He never needed to develop how he felt, he was just content acting as the power in his part of being Steven Universe. He didn't need to experience how to feel, he just felt what the humanity of Steven felt. When he's still with that humanity, he's able to express how he feels 100% if he chooses not to repress it. That's what happened here!


End file.
